


remember, sleepy eyes

by purple_mountain



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Good Brother Ben Hargreeves, Good Brother Diego Hargreeves, Good Brother Klaus Hargreeves, Light Angst, Littles are Known AU, Nightmares, No Apocalypse, No Incest, No Romance, No Smut, Non-Sexual Age Play, Platonic Cuddling, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, Sibling Bonding, Sleepy Cuddles, it's klaus what were you expecting, theyre all soft and happy because i mcfricking say so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-12-26 04:32:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18275840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_mountain/pseuds/purple_mountain
Summary: Klaus wakes to Five shrieking his head off two rooms over.----Littles are Known AU. Contains non-sexual age regression, don't like, don't read.





	1. often i am upset

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to very firmly assert that this is 100% non-sexual and 100% platonic and not meant to be interpreted otherwise at all. Warnings run as typical for NSAP fics - mentions of wetting, diapers, etc etc. Title from Little Space by Sxye and chapter titles from This is Home by Cavetown.
> 
> First time writing NSAP, so bear with me - I'm a Little of going on five years now, so I'd like to think this is accurate? This is a standard case of 'I wanted to read it so I'm writing it', lol.

It isn’t a problem. He’s thoroughly convinced himself of that. It’s  _ not _ .

He’s been back in his own time, if you could call it that (anything but the end of the world is  _ his own time _ ) for weeks. The days pass quickly, slowly, uneventfully, as they all pick up the pieces and try talking to each other for the first time in a long time, and settle into their routines and lives. They averted the apocalypse, none of them died, and Five’s got real living, breathing human beings to talk to that aren’t also time-traveling assassins.

So then why can’t he get  _ one _ good night of sleep?

It’s not like he isn’t used to the nightmares, he thinks to himself, perched at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee held in both hands. Mom’s puttering around at the sink, apron tied neatly and elbows deep in warm water and the dishes from breakfast. He’s used to the nightmares. He’d just been hoping they would stop.

He wonders if it’s possible to be desensitized to the dead bodies of your own siblings. They’re always there, when he closes his eyes. Klaus sees real ghosts. Five sees the ones he made for himself.

They’re always there.

He shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee. The others drifted off to start their own days after eating, and he welcomes the quiet. Mom’s humming some tuneless melody, and the dishes clink together rhythmically. He tries to avoid his memories of last night, of startling awake, of stumbling to the laundry room with armful of sheets, of trying not to cry from pure frustration.

It’s not a problem. It isn’t.

* * *

He’s woken up by his nightmares five of the six nights left in the week, and each time he crawls out of bed angry at himself and scared and ashamed, because he’d gotten over... _ this _ so long ago he’d forgotten it had ever even been an issue.

It’s disgusting and it makes him feel like his skin doesn’t fit quite right and like he can’t even trust his own body, but no one mentions the loads of wet, clean laundry still sitting in the washer when morning comes (because Five had fallen back asleep before he could switch the load from the washer to the dryer) so he supposes he’s getting away with it.

After a particularly bad dream, in a particularly frustrating fit of near tears, he considers asking for help. A second pair of hands to help him reach the detergent on the shelf above the washer, to smooth down his hair and brush the wetness off his cheeks, gentle, understanding. No - he doesn’t consider. He  _ wants _ , wants it so bad he can barely breathe. He imagines soft words, warm comfort.

The fuzzy feeling around the edges of his exhaustion pulls at his bones. His thoughts are a jumble of innocent, weak desires, and he thinks his hands have gone numb.

His hands.

The sheets are still wet and disgusting in his hands. 

He imagines the love turning to revulsion in his siblings’ eyes and doesn’t  _ want _ again.

* * *

The cycle continues for a few weeks more - have a nightmare, wake up, have a breakdown, lug pyjamas and sheets to the laundry room, turn on washer, have another breakdown, teleport back to his bedroom, pass out on unmade bed, wake up sad and cold. It’s what Klaus would melodramatically call a ‘miserable existence’, but it’s his existence and it’s not like he has a lot of other options.

‘A few weeks more’ being because of  _ course _ there was no way Klaus wouldn’t keep his nose out of Five’s business, Klaus who had always cared just a little too much, Klaus with his misplaced mother-henning and his ability to know what was best for literally anyone besides himself. He’d always been more observant than his excessive chatter and clumsy movements let on, and not just once when they were children had Five wondered if the other boy had developed telepathy in his sleep. He just always seemed to know what was bugging his siblings.

(It’s partially the Caregiver instincts, Five concludes, but mostly just  _ Klaus _ .)

So when Klaus’s voice echoes up the stairs, calling his name, he’s not surprised.

“What do you want?” The words leave his mouth immediately after his jump to the living room. Five scoffs at the expression on Klaus’s face (dumb, soft, and almost  _ patronizing _ ) and is already raising his hands in an unspoken threat to jump right back to his room. “This better not be a waste of my time.

There’s a grey grocery bag sitting extremely conspicuously half-way behind Klaus’s feet, and his brother kicks it a little more under the couch with an unassuming, disarming smile. “It isn’t, scout’s honor.”

The sincerity in Klaus’s voice is unusual. This isn’t just Klaus pulling the usual Klaus antics. Whatever’s in that bag, Five knows Klaus knows Five won’t like it. “So…” He lets Klaus struggle with trying to broach whatever topic it is gently. “Nightmares, huh?”

“Yes.” No point in beating around the bush. Five shifts his feet, crosses his arms. “And?”

“We’re, uh...we’re running out of laundry detergent pretty fast.” His voice is nonchalant, but Five’s blood turns to ice in his veins anyways. The creeping suspicion towards the bag tucked behind Klaus’s left ankle returns full force.

“This better not be what I think it is,” Five growls. He’s already had it up to here with his siblings treating him like he’s suddenly the youngest, poking fun at his face and his stature and his inability to order a decent coffee without getting  _ cooed _ at. The very last thing he needs is classification instincts blurring the lines in their relationships, and Klaus had always been abysmally bad at that. 

Five’s fine on his own, he’s always been fine on his own, thank you very much. So what if sometimes the nightmares get to be too much? So what if he’s not used to having more than half a bottle of water every few days, if he’s used to dehydration tearing at his throat like sandpaper? It’s not like they can’t afford to run the washer a few extra times a week.

(In the back of his mind lingers the disgust he’d imagined his siblings would feel if they ever found out, and he’s distantly aware his hands are shaking quite badly.)

“Hey.” Klaus’s eyes are calm, understanding, and the furthest thing from judgemental, and he reaches down to pull a brightly-colored package from the grocery bag. “Using these doesn’t have to mean anything, and it won’t make you any less of a Neutral. This isn’t about projecting classifications on you, or whatever. This is so you can get a good night’s rest and stop looking like a zombie all day.” The package Klaus presents a half-used one of pull-ups; they’re thin and discreet for the most part, but the color-scheme is obviously meant to appeal to Littles. To his credit, Klaus does look apologetic. “This is all we’ve got in the house, but I’m sure I can get Allison to run to the drugstore for those plain kinds-”

“No-” Five clears his throat, does his best to pretend the sharpness in his voice is from annoyance, to pretend his eyes don’t linger on the simple stars and clouds pattern. (Why? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand. The part of him that does is fuzzy and confusing.) “No, these are...fine.” 

A temporary fix for a temporary problem, he repeats over and over in his head. Nothing of significance.


	2. his mind is in a different place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments! <3 It's fair to say I was hella nervous posting the first chapter so yalls kind words definitely made me feel better XD

The first night is completely uneventful.

He wakes up dry. The first few hazy moments of consciousness drift in and out of focus. He feels...small? Relaxed? Must be because, for the first time in weeks (weeks!) he slept a full eight hours of sweet, uninterrupted sleep.

The alarm clock on his bedside table reads 9:02 AM, and the luxury of entertaining the thought of making it nine hours in one night puts a slight smile on his face. He rolls over, and falls back asleep.

When he finally gets out of bed, he strips out of  _ it _ like it burns, kicks it under the bed with no hesitation, and forces the whole ordeal out of his head for the rest of the day.

(In the low moments, the lulls, his mind drifts back to that hazy feeling. He hadn’t even needed  _ it _ last night, but he had felt...safe. He hadn’t needed to worry about getting up in the early morning and lugging his sheets to the wash, or whether he would wake up the others or not.

It was...nice.)

The second night, however, is so very far from uneventful.

He wakes up in the process of wetting, in the process of screaming, in the process of sweating through the thin nightshirt he stole off Luther. (It’s huge on him, which means  _ nothing _ , has  _ no _ implications _ ,  _ he tries to convince himself.)

The blankets are off him before he can even realize he’s teleported across his room, hands shaking so bad he can barely curl them into weak fists, eyes full of unshed tears. He can’t stop screaming, he really can’t, and there’s something squeezing his chest until he can’t breathe, either-

***

He wakes to Five shrieking his head off two rooms over.

Klaus flings back his blankets and barely lands on his feet in his haste to reach the door, tearing out into the hall. He  _ knows _ Ben is behind him, with movements silent but exuding worry near-tangibly on the fringe of Klaus’s awareness.

Klaus slams Five’s door open. Five himself is stood in the center of the room, panicking, and there’s no mistaking the used pull-up under his pyjama pants. 

There’s also no mistaking just how  _ tiny  _ his brother looks, in that moment, shaking like a leaf with glossed-over, teary hazel eyes. Shit.

“ _ Shit, _ ” he repeats helpfully to the only other adult (physically, emotionally, mentally, whatever) brother of his in the room. Ben parrots the sentiment. Neither of them have any  _ earthly _ clue of what to do. ( _ What good Caregivers we are _ , Klaus thinks sarcastically, in the split second between  _ Five is a Little?  _ and  _ What the  _ **_fuck_ ** .)

“Klaus?” The broken, raw voice that pipes up from a few feet away is not the angry, brusque Five he had come to get reacquainted with, but something quieter and less sure of himself. Something softer. His little brother’s tucked into Klaus’s arms before either of them has any real idea of what’s going on.

“Hey-” Klaus sits himself and the half-pint on the bed, flicking the bedside lamp on, and barely resisting wrinkling his nose at the squishy sound moving Five makes. Klaus should change him before it leaks; Five’s already upset, and Klaus does  _ not _ want to know how making even more of a mess will go down. “Hey, buddy, ‘s okay, I’ve got you-” 

He looks up to send Ben a pleading glance, but Ben’s already two steps ahead strategically and five steps out Five’s bedroom door. Klaus sends him a flicker of power, just enough to make his own hands glow blue, and he hears his brother vault down the steps three at a time to go retrieve Diego’s bag of Little stuff from the downstairs hall closet.

Because that’s what’s going on, isn’t it? They had all assumed Five was a Neutral, even Five. They really hadn’t had any reason to believe otherwise, and double-checking an already mostly-confirmed classification really takes the backseat when the threat of the world bursting into flames around you is looming over your head. 

But the way Five presses against him, scared and needy, tells a completely different story. The gentle, clumsy movements of his little brother’s hands as they find purchase in Klaus’s shirt tell a different story. And suddenly Klaus wants to break down into tears himself, because  _ oh, fuck  _ how had his little - Little - brother survived on his own for so long? Had he  _ known _ ? Maybe the stress of the apocalypse, of surviving, had suppressed his body’s urge to drop?

Those are questions for a not-in-headspace Five, he realizes, so he refocuses on the situation and takes a deep breath. The initial panic is starting to fade, and the mild, soothing rush of hormones from a Little in his arms helps. He bounces his knee lightly, jostles his armful of Five just a bit. “Hey, lil’ man, you gotta calm down a bit. Nothing’s gonna getcha, ‘kay? We’re at home. We’re just at home, and everyone else is sleeping just fine except you and me.”

“Not- not dead?” Five hiccups into his shoulder, breathing still ragged with tears. Klaus is quick to hold him a little tighter and pepper his hair with feather-light kisses.

“No, ‘course not, don’t you worry that head of yours.” He’s adopting that higher-pitched tone they all take with an in-headspace Diego. Five doesn’t seem disturbed by it, so that’s a small win, and Klaus continues his rambling. “If it makes you feel better, I bet we can get Luther up, literally nothing could get past him, he’s built like a  _ truck _ -”

“No!” Five’s volume startles both of them, and he’s quick to hide in Klaus’s neck again. “Just ‘Laus.”

There’s a hint of a pout in Five’s request, and Klaus grins. “Just me, huh? What about Benny? I bet he wants to say hi to his lil’ baby bro before we put you back to bed.” Five looks like he’s about to gripe about the additional presence, but seems to think better of it and gives Klaus tiny nods in reluctant agreement. “Can I change you?”

More quick, little nods, and Klaus moves to pluck Five from his lap when his brother whines loudly and grips tighter. He’s about to gently explain why he needs both arms free to clean Five up when Ben appears in the doorway, duffel in hand, Klaus’s knight in shining armor and additional set of hands. Klaus could hug the  _ crap  _ out of him right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this time on: I'm horrible at chapter endings so it's super awkward yay!


	3. will everybody please give him a little bit of space

Ben makes quick work of slinging the duffel onto Klaus’s chair and selecting the important stuff from it. “So he’s...Little?” He sounds so incredibly guilty at not having caught it earlier, and Klaus can empathize.

“Yeah,” is all Klaus can muster up in lieu of a real explanation, but it’ll do. Five is still slightly shaky, and still clutching the hem of one of Klaus’s sleeves like he’ll disappear right out from under Five. He really does his best to not think about the implications of that. “Help me change him?”

Neither of them says a word during the process, except hushed whispers to soothe their little bro when he whines, when he looks like he’s gonna burst into tears again, when he initially flinches away from their hands on his skin. Klaus tries to remember if he had had any skin-to-skin contact with Five since his return, and draws a blank. His free hand, the other arm securely cradling Five in his lap, finds Five’s hair before drifting down to cup Five’s face. His brother leans into the touch, unguarded, tired, sweet.

It’s hard to tell where exactly Five is, headspace-wise. His hazel eyes are even more unfocused now that he’s calmer, blinking slowly, and his fingers curl gently around Klaus’s forearm. Ben keeps talking to hold his attention, doing his best to clean up with only two hands and fasten a new pull-up in place, while Klaus just observes. Five seems to understand a few words here and there, simple ones. He lights up a bit at ‘brother’, ‘Klaus’, ‘Ben’, ‘sleep’. He sighs and yawns and rubs at his eyes as Ben finishes, leaving the two of them in the silence of the room as he ducks into the bathroom to wash his hands.

“Hey,” Klaus murmurs, chin almost to his chest as he touches his forehead to Five’s. “You feelin’ better?” He doesn’t get much of a reply, but the innocent upturn of his brother’s lips is enough. “How old are you, bud?”

Five, for what it’s worth, doesn’t appear to be very concerned about figuring that out. He fumbles with his fingers for a bit, fingertips bumping against each other, before apparently deciding to give up and return to holding onto Klaus like a lifeline. “Alright. That’s alright, little guy.”

They sit in the quiet of the night for a few minutes longer, Klaus tugging Five a bit more into his hold and rocking the two of them gently. Ben returns after a few minutes more, with clean hands and the duffel no doubt stowed away somewhere nearby. In his aforementioned clean hands is one of Diego’s old stuffed animals, one of the ones the other Little probably just hadn’t taken a liking to. It’s a kitten, with a floppy black-and-white body for hugging and a plush tail for tugging, and little embroidery-thread whiskers hanging free for rubbing between curious fingertips.

Klaus doesn’t expect Five to be enthusiastic at the sight of the toy (doesn’t really expect him to do much of anything, if Klaus is honest; they’re all on the verge of nodding off to sleep again and Five wasn’t much for expressing positive emotions anyways), but he’s surprised by the happy noise and the grabby hands Five makes. Ben passes off the toy, sinking onto the mattress beside them and to Klaus’s right, so he can card his fingers through Five’s hair once or twice.

Their little brother immediately hugs the kitten close, bringing it up to press against his mouth and nose, and settles. There’s virtually no sign of the waterworks that had happened earlier, just a red nose and the stain of teardrops on Klaus’s shirt. Ben yawns beside him, and he’s about to suggest they quickly figure out a sleeping arrangement and conk the fuck out until at least eleven AM, but the door creaks open.

Diego pokes his head in, hair ruffled and movements soft, his stuffed puppy securely in the crook of his arm and his other hand holding his favorite blanket in place around his shoulders like a cape. "Heard s-screamin'," He mumbles. "S'eepover?" He seems entirely unbothered by said screaming, instead jumping straight to the  _ I heard we were comforting someone and I want in _ part, but then again, 5-year-old Diego is a pretty chill little dude.

"Aw, honey, maybe not tonight." Klaus whispers. He’s reluctant to crowd Five with too many people around, especially since none of them had, well, discussed this beforehand. "I bet if you ask nicely, Vanya would love to give you some cuddles!"

Diego blinks, considering the offer, before his eyes land on Five for the first time and he freezes. Five’s still tucked into Klaus’s arms, eyes sleepy. Klaus holds his breath, but it’s for nothing. Diego’s gaze softens almost immediately. “Like me? Small?” His voice is deathly quiet. The weight of those two words settles over the room. Diego, they had thought, had been alone in his classification.

“Yeah, Di.” Ben rises from the bed, takes Diego’s hands in his to focus his attention. “Probably even smaller than you are.”

“C-Can I see?” He sounds happy, almost excited - or, whatever excitement a five-year-old on a strict sleeping schedule can muster up at three in the morning - and lets Ben lead him to the bed. A gentle press of Ben’s hands on his shoulders and Diego’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes wide, a touch of awe coloring his words. “ _ Tiny. _ ”

Klaus hums. “Be gentle, okay, Di?” Diego takes this instruction very seriously, restraining himself to only the lightest of touches on Five’s cheeks, before withdrawing his hand. It’s much easier to read Diego when his face is open and trusting, when he’s small, and protectiveness is written in every line of his face when he looks back up at Ben.

“Bag?” He asks simply.

“In my room,” Ben replies, and Diego’s on his feet and back out the door. Klaus looks to Ben, who just shrugs and begins tugging off his jacket. (There’s probably a whole physics-oriented, brain-hurting theorem behind how Ben can interact with his clothes, or how his jacket can be draped simply over the back of Klaus’s chair without phasing through, but their resident Science Expert doesn’t appear up to complex explanations, so…)

Diego reappears all of two and a half minutes later, some small object clutched in his hands. He drops lightly on the ground where he had been sitting before and opens his hands and - oh, Klaus could cry because his little boy is so sweet, as always - his favorite paci’s nestled there, in his palms, the one he uses when he’s really, really little. 

“Five,” he insists, and just like that, everything clicks into place. Diego had always been the best big brother when out of his headspace, all affectionate teasing comments and elbows resting on top of heads to lord his height over the rest of them, and Klaus decides this different brand of Diego-affection is similar. He takes the soother from Diego and slips it between Five’s lips, who accepts it without so much as opening his eyes.

They stay like that a little longer, until Klaus remembers what time it is and as cute and sincere as Diego is, his continued involvement in this whole ordeal is at  _ least _ partially due to him wanting to stay up late. Nonetheless, he’s obviously tired, rubbing at his eyes and yawning every few seconds, and Klaus eases Five out of his lap and into Ben’s to stretch and usher Diego off to bed.

He suspects, as he takes Diego’s hand in his, that his brother is on the smaller end of his usual 3- to 5-year-old age range, so he guides them in the direction of Vanya’s room. Vanya (like the sweetheart and amazing sister she is) had never minded looking after the smaller ones of their bunch if Klaus and Ben couldn’t (and after Ben’s death and Klaus’s….well, Klaus being high all the time, this was more depressing than sweet) despite her Neutral status. Some people are just naturally caring, regardless of their biology, and those close-minded idiots that claimed Neutrals didn’t like taking care of Littles or want to do so were just stupid meanies, Klaus didn’t make the rules.  _ Anyways _ .

Klaus knocks lightly on Vanya’s closed door, but it’s to no avail as she’s still sleeping soundly when he pushes the door open. Diego remains a half-step behind him, shoulders slumped in that way that means he doesn’t want to be alone, and Klaus crosses the room (almost impaling his foot on a clothes hanger, and he absolutely does  _ not _ squeak when he trips on it even if it  _ does _ prompt a giggle from Diego) to shake her shoulder gently. “Hey. Hey, V.”

She sighs, cracking one eye open and glaring like she had been awake this whole time and had been expecting him. “Mm? Klaus?”

He does a little step to the side, revealing Diego, and she rolls over and lifts the blanket to give Diego space to crawl into bed beside her like the hundreds of times they’ve done this before. She’s already fallen back asleep by the time Diego’s shifted and squirmed until he’s comfortably cuddled up to her arm. Klaus pets his hair a few times, arranging the blanket better over the two of them, and kisses Vanya’s forehead.

Lazy day tomorrow, he thinks for what’s probably the third time tonight. Lots of sleeping, lots of cuddling. Pyjamas. Movies.

He yawns, and closes Vanya’s door gently behind him.


End file.
